My body responds to his touch like a creature that has been dying of thirst and finally found water. Every brush of his fingers, every drag of his mouth across my skin—I drink it in with a desperation that should frighten me but only makes me want more.
His hands map territory he's only imagined, sliding beneath the hem of my dress to grip bare thighs. The contact scorches through me, and my hips buck against him involuntarily, seeking pressure, seeking relief from the ache that has colonized every nerve ending.
"Jaxson." His name tears from my throat, half plea and half command. "I need you inside me, I can't wait anymore, please just—"
"You told me club bathrooms weren't good enough for you." His mouth curves against my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point. "So we're doing this properly, in a bed, where I can take my time with you the way I've been imagining for seven goddamn years."
Before I can protest, his hands slide down to cup my ass and he lifts me off the ground. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, ankles locking at the small of his back, and the new position presses the hard length of him directly against my center. I roll my hips, grinding shamelessly, and his groan vibrates through both our bodies.
He carries me up the stairs without breaking stride, muscles flexing beneath my palms where I grip his shoulders. Each step creates friction that makes me gasp, my dress rucked up around my hips, nothing between us but the thin cotton of his trousers and the dampened lace of my underwear.
His bedroom door swings open, and then he has me pinned against it, the wood cold against my spine through the silk of my dress. His mouth claims mine again with bruising intensity, tongue sliding against mine while his hips thrust forward in a rhythm that promises everything I've been craving.
"You have no idea how many times I've imagined this." His voice drops to a growl against my ear as his teeth catch the lobe. "How many nights I lay awake in Milan, picturing exactly what I'd do to you if I ever got you alone like this, and every single fantasy fell short of the reality of having you wrapped around me."
I drag my nails down his back hard enough to leave marks through his shirt, and the sound he makes is primal. His hands find the zipper at my spine, dragging it down with agonizing slowness, the dress loosening around my shoulders before he peels it away.
The cold air hits my bare breasts—I wore nothing beneath the silk—and his sharp intake of breath is more satisfying than any compliment. His gaze rakes over me with hungry reverence, hands coming up to cup the weight of each breast, thumbs circling peaks that have been aching for his attention.
"Fuck, Harper." The word escapes him like a wound being opened. His thumbs drag across my nipples, and the moan that tears from my throat makes his jaw clench with restraint. "You're going to destroy me. I can already feel it happening."
He lifts me again, carrying me toward the antique dresser against the far wall. The mirror reflects our tangled forms as he sets me on the edge, positioning himself between my spread thighs. My hands reach for his buttons, fingers clumsy with urgency, and when my engagement ring catches in his hair, we both freeze.
His hand closes around my wrist, holding it steady. Dark eyes meet mine in the mirror's reflection as his other hand works the ring loose, sliding it down my finger with deliberate care. The diamond slips free easily, like it has been waiting for permission to leave, and Jaxson tosses it somewhere over his shoulder without looking.
The small clatter of metal hitting hardwood barely registers. All I can process is the relief flooding through me, the lightness of my naked finger, the way he's looking at me like I'm finally, completely his.
"Better." His mouth crashes into mine again, and I finish the work of his buttons, shoving the shirt from his shoulders to expose the chest I've been staring at for weeks.
He's beautiful in ways that seem specifically designed to destroy me. Lean muscle layered over broad shoulders, the defined V of his hips disappearing into trousers I need gone immediately. My hands work his belt while his mouth travels down my throat, teeth and tongue leaving a trail of sensation that has me arching off the dresser.
When he finally carries me to the bed, I'm trembling with anticipation. He lowers me onto sheets that smell like him, and then he's hovering over me, still wearing too many clothes while I'm spread beneath him in nothing but ruined lace.
"I told you I'd take my time." His fingers hook into my underwear, dragging the fabric down my legs with torturous slowness. "I told you I'd make sure you never settle for mediocre again, and sweetheart, I always keep my promises."
His mouth follows the path his hands created, lips grazing my inner thigh, breath warm against flesh that throbs with need. When his tongue finally slides through my folds, my back bows off the mattress and a sound escapes me that I don't recognize—raw and desperate and keening.
He learns me with single-minded focus, cataloging every gasp and shudder, adjusting his rhythm until my thighs are shaking around his shoulders. His fingers join his mouth, sliding inside me, curling against a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
"Look at me, Harper." The command cuts through my mounting pleasure, and my eyes find his in the darkness. "I want to see your face when you come for me."
The orgasm hits like a tidal wave, crashing through me with an intensity that tears tears from my eyes. I'm crying, actually crying, the release so overwhelming that my body doesn't know how to contain it. Seven years of suppressed wanting floods out of me in shuddering waves, and he holds me through all of it, mouth gentle now, coaxing me down from heights I've never reached.
Just as my breathing begins to steady, as I think the storm has passed, he shifts. His body covers mine, his weight settling between my thighs, and then he's sliding inside me—slow, relentless, stretching me around him until I'm so full I can barely breathe.
"Eyes on me, baby." His forehead presses to mine, and I feel him everywhere, inside me and around me, taking up every inch of space I have left. "Stay with me, Harper."
He moves, and the rhythm he sets is different now, deep and deliberate. Each thrust sends aftershocks rippling through my oversensitized flesh, building something new on the foundation of what just shattered.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, and his control begins to fracture. His movements grow harder, faster, his breath ragged against my throat as he chases his own release while dragging me toward another.
The second orgasm takes me by surprise, cresting without warning, and I scream his name as my body convulses around him. He follows a heartbeat later, groaning my name into the curve of my neck, both of us trembling through aftershocks that seem to last forever.